Mimi and Mark
by Queenie and Kate
Summary: 100 quick Mimi & Mark sketchwritings. Done for the rent100 community on LJ. I'd summarize better, but anyone who's read one of my summaries knows I'm incapable of it. Updated Jan 2: Middles.
1. Beginnings

Beginnings – Prompt 001

November 1, 1996

I met a boy last night

Not that anything's going to come of it – I'm not ready – but I did.

Angel and I ended up throwing that massive party I was talking about. It was here, though, not at her place… Luke's started sculking around (if that's the right term… just being generally lurk-y and stalker-ish) again. He'd just use a party as another excuse to cause a big scene and upset her.

So we moved the party to my place.

And, even with all the craziness of planning a party and stupid lurking ex-boyfriends, Angel came through with that gorgeous red Renaissance costume she promised me. I think she may have even managed to make it historically accurate. Or a reasonable approximation, anyway. (I only really got it for the party… she took it away right after, cuz apparently I "can't have nice things" because I'll "just wreck them".) All I know is that it was gorgeous and it gave even _me_ cleavage.

Sorry – The Boy.

One would think that after keeping a diary since she was 12, Mimi Marquez would learn to keep on track.

One would be wrong.

Anyway, the party ended up turning into half a Halloween party and half a "screw you, Benny, for having a wife and not leaving her for me" party. (I know it's been a month. I'm handling it… I swear.)

And half a karaoke party.

There was a lot of liquor. That's my only excuse, really. It was eleven o'clock and I was busy belting out "I Will Survive" and downing shots of sambuca between every verse. Sambuca chased by orange pop tastes like Halloween. (See? Being all liquored up is truly the only excuse for that kind of behaviour.)

And that was when I realized that the crazy, loud pounding I had been hearing was _not_, in fact, part of the music. It was, in fact, someone knocking (to understate it terribly) on my apartment door. So, I did the only thing that made sense at the time.

I screamed "Screw you, Benny!", did one last shot and stumbled over to open the door.

Behind the door was a video camera, trained directly on my boobs. And behind the video camera was The Boy.

His name's Mark. He's got blonde hair, blue eyes… and thick, black-rimmed glasses and this stripe-y scarf. He's sort of dorky as hell. He never learned my name.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. At that point, all I was really aware of was the video camera, and a quiet voice mumbling something along the lines of "Close on the breasts belonging to the beautiful stranger from downstairs. Um… of course, your humble filmmaker didn't mean for the shot to be so close. She just took him by surprise." And at that point his eyes met mine. "Hi. I'm Mark."

To which I responded, either drunkenly or dimly (lord knows I'm both most of the time), "Hi! Whose friend are you? Do you want a drink? We've got lots of beer! And… uh… other stuff, if you want something stronger. I've been drinking sambuca!" I think I may have thought I was being sexy. Or something.

He may have thought that too. He turned bright red and forced out "I… uh… I'm from upstairs. We just… uh… could you guys… uh… be a little quieter, maybe?" (The "uh"s are arbitrarily added by me, of course, but, really, there were about that many.)

By that point, I had almost forgotten I _had_ neighbours and his nervous awkwardness in asking me to shut up made me feel a little guilty. So, I opened by eyes real wide, put on my innocent face and went "Oh Dios, are we really being too loud?"

I wouldn't think he could get more flustered. But I think the innocent face did him in. He lowered the camera, tugged on his hair and sort of squinted at me with one eye. "Uh, no… We just… My roommate's sick and he's got to sleep. He's being cranky."

He was really cute. (Or maybe just really different from Benny. To be honest. Looking back in a sober light.) So I winked at him – probably over-winked, to be honest… again – and screamed through the open door "No more karaoke, guys, and turn the music down! There's sick people upstairs!"

Everyone listened. Like they do. And then I grinned at Mark and asked him again if he wanted a drink.

Experience has shown that boys do not resist for long when it comes to me.

Granted, Mark is much nicer than most guys are when it comes to me. (I can recognize my mistakes now, I'm becoming a grown-up.)

And, something I don't think I've ever written in a diary of mine before, we did _not_ kiss.

I just got him drunk and we talked all night. I swear to god, I ended up sitting on the stairs outside my apartment (outside my own party!) talking to a geeky blonde kid about high school, video making, dancing, what we wanted to be when we grew up. All night. Like until the sun came up.

And then he realized that he'd left his sick roommate alone all night (not to mention that we were both totally gone on sambuca – I think he secretly wanted to throw up then lie down) and he hugged me and then ran off upstairs.

And then I went back into my party and Angel immediately confiscated my dress because I was going to wreck it. (Like I said.)

Anyway – nothing's going to come of it. Not now. I'm still kind of… broken, I think. But… maybe I'll go upstairs one day and seduce him like crazy and we'll get together. Or maybe we'll be friends or…

Anyway. The thing is, for one night, I thought about a guy other than Benny. And that's a start, isn't it?

Gotta run. Angel's here.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And though this is the piece for the "beginnings" prompt at rent100, it's also an adaptation of an event that's going to occur in "She's Made Her Mark". (When I have time to get around to finishing that one… Aye.)


	2. Middles

Middles – Prompt 002

"What's different?"

"Pardon?" Mark tore himself away from the new video editing equipment his parents (in a surprising surge of generosity) had bought him for Christmas. It was very very nice but also, very very attention consuming. Which was why he had barricaded himself into his bedroom for the past two weeks. And yet there was his roommate's girlfriend, planted directly in front of him, with the bottom of her shirt pulled up to her bra.

"Look at my tummy. What's different?"

It definitely didn't make any more sense the second time she said it. So he barely looked up before shrugging. "I dunno… you got a new belly button ring?"

A pout spread across her pretty face as she tugged her shirt back down, then flung herself onto the bed next to him. "No. Come on, you know that's the same one I've been wearing forever. Since always."

He was about to tell her that he was really far too busy for a guessing game about whatever present Roger had just bought her, when her eyes sparkled at him. "What's different is that there's a baby in there. I'm pregnant." And then she neatly reached out to catch the video camera that had slipped out of his hands.

"You can't-"

"Nope. Definitely pregnant. Definitely 3 months along. I went to the doctor today." She set the camera down on the bed and watched his mouth open to ask another question. A twitch of her index finger shut his mouth again. "It's fine. I've got a million and two extra pills to take every day, but the baby will be fine. Sick people have babies all the time now. And, really, Mark, I—"

This time a twitch of _his_ index finger shut _her_ mouth. "Does Rog know?"

She giggled and shook her head and for the first time he realized the sparkling in her eyes wasn't purely excitement. "Are you kidding me? Like I'm going to tell Spazpants right away."

"Mimi, if he's going to be a dad—"

"I know, I have to tell him!" She looked away for a second, tugging on her shirt, before continuing. By this point he could see that she was actually full-on fighting against crying. "But you know what's going to happen? I'm going to tell him. Then he's going to spaz out about how I'm going to die and the baby's going to die and his life is going to be over and wha wha wha. _Then_ he's going to yell at me: "How could you be so stupid, Mimi, and fuck up like this?". And then, I'm going to yell "Yeah, because _you_ had no part at all, Davis. It was all me.". And then he's going to yell "Fuck you, Mimi" and storm out and go get wasted. And then at about 4 am, he's going to realize what a jerk I was and come home and crawl into bed and wake me up and start crying his apologies."

"That's how it works," Mark offered lamely, not entirely sure if this was the type of situation where he was supposed to respond.

"I just don't have the energy for it yet. I'll do it tonight, okay?"

Mimi turned her head away again, but Mark knew this time she was wiping away tears. And it struck him that he was safe and that's why she came and interrupted his work and told him.

And it hit him what he was supposed to do in this situation.

His arms slid around her middle as he set his chin on her shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. Sit with me awhile and be excited about being knocked up, okay? Maybe we can come up with a plan to stop Roger from being too much of a… of a spazpants, alright?"

She smiled as he dragged her back so they were sitting against the head of his bed.

And as her head lay on his shoulder and they talked about her little girl-to-be, his hands rested on her tummy. And though he wasn't Roger… and it would probably be a long time before Roger's hands would rest on her stomach like that… his hands being there made it okay.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream.


	3. Ends

Ends - 003

"Hi."

"Hi."

For a moment, Mark stared up at her, expecting something maybe a little more than a 'hi'. He had talked to Maureen and Joanne. He had sat through several dinners full of effusive praise with Benny and enjoyed several similar (at least regarding the praise aspect) outings with Collins. He and Roger had rambled through the night virtually every night for the past week. She, on the other hand, had barely spoken to him since the announcement he'd made at the Life Café a few weeks earlier. But when she just twisted the ratty sleeves of Roger's old high school sweatshirt around her fingers and stared around the room, he returned to what he had been doing.

Mimi's eyes slowly took in the bright spots on the faded green walls where his pictures had hung. It wasn't just video – he loved everything that involved film he could play with and create with. She looked at the bare shelves with the dusty undersides that had been crammed with camera equipment the day before. She skimmed over the sheet neatly folded on the floor that once closed off the section of the room he had deemed to be his "closet", as she carefully lowered herself onto the one space on his bed that wasn't covered in his crap.

"So, this is it, huh? You leave tomorrow?"

Mildly shocked by her sudden speech, he dropped the stack of tapes into the box he had been packing a little more loudly than he had intended to. "This is it. I've got to go where the work is. Right now, it's in LA."

"I know," she said quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I can't believe that guy actually commissioned you to make a documentary. A real documentary. Just from that crazy-ass Buzzline work Alexi made you do two years ago."

He didn't think she noticed how her words stabbed into him – mostly because they shouldn't have. "He says that he saw something through the vampire welfare queens and rabies-infected frogs. Something filled with a vision trying to come to gestation – in less cheesy words than that."

She wordlessly handed him a pile of old film magazines.

"It's not selling out this time. I get full artistic control. He's just the producer. Someone who's got something he needs to make people aware of, but doesn't know how to say it." His voice got small. "If this gets some notice, I can probably get a grant. And that'll let me figure out next what it is that I want to say."

"I wasn't going to say that, Mark. It never even crossed my mind to. You know I don't think about selling out and that shit." She sighed and grabbed his beaten down pillow, wiggling over to sit where it had been. "I'll just miss you is all. You're the sanest friend I've got."

Packing suddenly wasn't so urgent. He got up and sat in the cleared off space she had just occupied. As his arm nervously settled around her shoulders, he reached for the right thing to say. This could be why they hadn't had the talk. He'd never had a girl as a friend before. "Don't worry. I'll write, you know."

"No."

"What?"

"You'll write to Roger. But one day he and I will break up, and I'll have to move out, Mark. And we'll be in different worlds." He was surprised to almost see the tiniest bit of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But I've been thinking and it's okay. Everything's time comes."

She had developed an unnerving ability to confidently state the future since that terrifying Christmas Eve.

"I'm cool, Mark," she reassured him quietly, seeing the unsettled look on his face. "I… uh… got you something. So if you get lonely while you're traveling and getting famous, you can have something to remind you of home."

Out of the sweatshirt pocket she produced a tiny teddy bear wearing an equally tiny "I Love NYC" T-shirt.

"Oh… Mimi, I… god." Before he thought it over, really, his hands had unwrapped his only scarf from around his neck and gently placed it around hers. "It's a lot warmer where I'm going. Yours."

"Thank you." She stared down at the scarf for a second, before throwing her arms around him.

For two minutes, he forgot about his impending drive across the country. She pushed the truths she had just told him into the future.

When they broke apart, she giggled to hide her almost tears. He cleared his throat a little too fiercely.

"You know, I'm totally going to sell this on E-Bay as soon as I see your name on the list of Oscars nominees in three years."

"I know, babe. I'll make sure to mention you in my acceptance speech."

He pressed a kiss on her cheek. She gently squeezed his knee, then went.

She paused at the door.

"Bye Mark."

"Bye Meems."

That was it.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream. (I'm starting to get over always having to have creative author's notes. Am I really going to be able to come up with 100?)


	4. Insides

Insides – 004

"Here's the thing with AIDS. Everyone treats it like it's an immediate death sentence. It's not. You find the right mixture of pills, dosages and that, and it's controllable. It's not curable, but it's controllable. You find the right mixture of pills and you can live for maybe 20 years after you get diagnosed. Roger's found his right mixture. I haven't." Mimi's once vibrant brown eyes suddenly seem to grow unfocused. Truth is, she's trying to look past the camera and see the man behind it. "Mark, can we please stop for tonight? I think Roger's going to be home soon. And I'm getting cold."

"Sure thing, Meems." I give her a big, reassuring, smile and start packing away my filming equipment. I can't stop the smile from becoming fixed. Strained almost immediately. Mimi's reaching out for the big purple blanket I bought her two weeks ago and I can't stop staring at her skinny little arm. You can see every one of her veins. Sometimes when I look at her now I feel like I'm seeing her insides, instead of everything I should be seeing.

And then she sees me staring and quickly wraps the blanket around herself and I move to sit next to her on the couch. "Hey. You're doing really good in the filming. You're gonna tug at the world's heartstrings, kid."

"Thank you," Mimi responds vaguely. I can tell she's more occupied with trying to see the clock on the wall than listening to me. "You think he'll be here soon too, right? It's almost 3 am… I mean… his gig can't go too late, right?"

It's harder to smile this time. "No, sweetie, I'm sure it won't go much later. He's probably just having a couple of drinks to unwind with the guys. You know how he's always so twitchy after shows." She nods, but I'm pretty sure that I didn't actually do any good. She keeps biting on her lower lip and glancing over at the door when she thinks I'm not looking.

So I simply settle my arm over her shoulders and try not to wince as her bones jab into me… through the fleecy blanket. Ever since Roger's found his "cure" and started playing with a band again and started staying out all night, trying to run away from reminders of his disease, she's started collapsing. It's not the AIDS that's killing her anymore. It's him. When he leaves, she doesn't eat. She doesn't fall asleep before he gets home, because she's terrified he won't _get_ home. Or he'll fall further… he'll come home high.

I'm the only one to look hard enough to see it.

Not 5 minutes after I tell Mimi that Roger's out for drinks, he proves me mostly right by exploding through the door. Completely wasted. "Hey kids," he very nearly slurs, bouncing over to the couch. "Hey hey, Cohen. What're you doin' with my girl?"

He needs only to hold out his hand and Mimi forgets the stale (and not-so-stale) liquor on his breath. She forgets the visions of groupies with sticky lip glosses and purses full of temptation that have been filling her head all night. She forgets the 12 hours she has been waiting up for him. I can see all these thoughts go screaming away as delight fills her eyes while she takes Roger's hand and allows him to virtually drag her to his room.

I wonder why he never bothers to look back and see how she's collapsing and withering inside. All it should take is one look.

But then, he hasn't even noticed the withering on the outside and the 15 pounds she's lost waiting for him.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream. (Definitely over author's notes creativity.)


	5. Outsides

Outsides – 005

"What about this one?" Mimi twists her hips around, letting her filmy purple skirt attack Mark's knees as she does.

"Mimi, is it really fashion conscientious to wear a long lacy skirt with ripped up fishnets? I know I'm just a guy and I'm kind of clueless when it comes to girl stuff, but it just seems wrong to me." Mark knows immediately that he's said the wrong thing. Her face falls and she flings herself down on the couch next to him.

"What about that blue pants outfit I wore the first night we met?" She finally asks, almost pitifully.

"Meems, why is it so important what you wear tonight? Roger's going to… I mean, he hasn't seen you for 2 months, I would think he'd be so excited just to see you that…"

The fire in Mimi's eyes tells him he's said the wrong thing yet again.

"You know what? You're right, you don't know anything!"

She's raging now. Mark's really screwed up this time.

"97 of the success of today is dependant on my looking hot tonight! He has to have visual recollection of why he missed me so much. Honestly, Mark!"

Mimi always gets wordier when she's angry.

"Meems, I'm sure he'll remember why he misses you even if you don't look hot. It's you he misses, you know, not your legs."

Now she's sighing and rolling her eyes at him.

"Mark. Do you think it's because of Roger's beautiful soul that I came up here and seduced him that Christmas Eve? Or do you think it's because he looked fucking do-able in a pair of plaid pants? Honestly, Mark, sometimes it's what's on the outside that counts. Now help me choose something to wear tonight, punk!"

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream. (Definitely over author's notes creativity.)


	6. Hours

Hours – 006

It was never really clear what the moment was. The moment when the universe decided that it would be them. Forever.

When their lips found each for the first time, it was obvious. But they, and everyone else, knew that it must have begun sometime before then.

Sometime in the dark hours he spent holding her while she shook and sweated her way through withdrawal for the third and last time.

Sometime in the awkward minutes where they all went dancing together and she realized she was dancing with him instead of with the man she was facing and should have been with.

Sometime in the beautiful seconds where he showed her works in progress and his face lit up in the rush of excitement as he told her what he would do next.

Sometime in the quiet hours they spent sitting on the fire escape and watched a hundred thousand people with fate-enforced lives of their own pass them by.

Or maybe it was sometime in an unassuming second, minute, hour, while she brushed her teeth or he bought a new tape, and they knew. It happened.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream. (Definitely over author's notes creativity.)


	7. Days

Days – 007

"Have you ever wondered?"

"Pardon?" I looked up from applying my makeup for the second time that day. Roger is simply incapable of understanding the disastrous effect his… um… "affections" have on a girl's make-up. The man in question was busy pacing crazily in front of my bed and, in fact, _not_ noticing that I was redoing my make-up.

"About Mark. Where he does when he disappears like that. Sometimes, Meems, it's for _days_. He doesn't even take his camera sometimes. Do you think he's leading some kind of second life? Like he has a whole second group of friends? Like he has a whole other best friend? Do you think his other best friend can play guitar better than me?"

After staring at his crazy for several seconds, I finally rolled my eyes. "Rog, he has a new girlfriend."

"He has a what?"

"A new girlfriend," I repeated patiently. "He met her during one of those film courses he takes when he has the money. Her name is Julie and she has long curly red hair. Her apartment has heat all the time. Sometimes they just lie in her bed and talk until 4 am and she never tells him to go home." I grinned at Roger who had just sat down heavily on my bed. "Don't you ever listen to him when he talks?"

Men. And they think _we're_ the lesser sex.

**Author's Note: **First: Nothing's mine, nor will be. No matter how hard I wish.

And… um… yep. Feedback, reviews, criticisms are always almost better than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups ice cream. (Definitely over author's notes creativity.)


End file.
